Mallorca! Part One.

We went to Mallorca! And I took about 60 pictures, some of which make me go “Wow, what was I thinking?” Even so, there are probably 30 or 40 usable ones, which I have poured into my computer the hard way, because it doesn’t recognize my celephone as a drive, which is SO annoying am I digressing, yeah, sorry. Anyway. We went to Mallorca!

I always start vacations off totally excited, photographing and documenting every little thing, so day 1 featured shots of the rental car, the fronrbeeach4t of the hotel, grocery store donuts (apparently the local word for donut is “floopy” which I found absolutely hilarious). Then I get into scenery and take a lot of indistinguishable landscape shots. Then I chill the fuck out (which is hello, the point of going on vacation) and forget to document anything because I am inching toward fatal relaxation. Then it’s time to go home.

Anyway. Day 1 was flight rental-car grocery store hotel check-in and finally, THE POINT: barefoot beachin’. It was awesome.

The hotel was fine, I’d recommend it to anyone (Castell de Mar, in Cala Millor, which is apparently better than Cala Bona, just up the coast), though it seems they want their German guests to die, as this sign was by the indoor pool:

sign

Catalan: No launcha the head. Spanish: No throw-a the head. English: Don’t dive. German: Dive.

But we won’t stay there again because, as it turned out, we were scouting houses on Mallorca. Srsly, DrBob kept drifting toward the real estate stores like they had extra gravity or something. And it was a bit cool for lying on the beach, and we had a rental car, and it’s not a big island, so we explored the whole thing, pretty much. We found a lot of good stuff.

The guidebook said check out the castle at Alarò, so we said duh, okay! And set off on a truly hairy switchback drive up a goat trail heavily frequented by pedestrians who’d been smart enough to park at the bottom of the hill. We didn’t see any sign saying “hey! Turistas estúpidas, parque aquí” so we pootled on up until we got to the restaurant at Es Verger, where we had coffee, said a quick prayer and started back down. We never did make it to the castle, but the view from the mountainside was pretty spiffy.

viewalaro

I think this is the view from Alarò, but it could be anywhere on the island, actually.

What else? Ooo, Sóller, DrBob really liked that. Here’s the cathedral, before whocathedralsollerse plaza we discovered pa amb oli, one of those local specialties that is appallingly simple, but it was pretty well done at this place so that’s okay. Lunch was frequently interrupted by this weird hooty orange tram-thing. V. popular with the tourists, obv. Apparently the port is nice too, but we had this program laid out by the guidebook and we’d squandered a long time clawing our way up the mountain to Alarò, so we headed on to Lluc, which was really really neato – so fabulous that, um, I forgot to take any pictures, though I dug the origin story. It seems that a local boy found a black Madonna statue in the woods and dutifully delivered it to the church, but she disappeared – twice – and both times was found in the woods where she’d first been spotted by the kid. I like a statue with a sense of humor.

After Lluc we were exhausted, so we crawled back to the hotel, stuffed ourselves senseless at the buffet, and zonked out.

More tomorrow. Ish.

Song du jour of the day: Nina Simone. Feeling Good.


this is not at all what I sat down to blog about

So I broke up with my therapist, that’s a thing that happened. I was so freaked out about it, I actually googled for tips. The best of the results I found said that a healthy mature adult would discuss it honestly, but if you were that you wouldn’t be in therapy, so do what you need to do. So at the end of what turned out to be our last session, when she said when shall we meet again, I said actually I was thinking of stopping this now, and she said let’s take a break, you can call me back in a few weeks. So she actually deployed the Kafka Relationship Dissolver, not I, which is kinda weird, but whatever. I’m too avoidant to give it much more thought.

I didn’t call her back after three weeks. You probably guessed that.  Continue reading


so, the job…

So yeah, I started this job in February. Half of it is proofreading English texts for the SFB 933, which is a massive interdisciplinary research project about texts as material objects in pre-printing societies, so I am learning a LOT of really interesting stuff about hieroglyphics and illuminated manuscripts and clay tablets – and forgetting it immediately , because my brain is like a sponge, apply the least bit of pressure and everything squooges out all over the place. That may not be the original meaning of that metaphor. Anyway. I have a job!

The other half is substitute-substitute-secretarial work, right? A finance secretary got elected to some council or other so another secretary in the department took over as finance secretary, so her duties will now be mine, as long as the other secretary doesn’t get un-elected. Some of it’s very fun, but I also have to write emails! In German! I am not… overly excited about my writing skills in German, what with it being all really fuckin’ hard and stuff.

But I have a job. And it’s been a lifejacket in the sea of worthlessness I fell into during the last year and a half of unemployment, so there’s that. Now if the fricken HR people would stop thinking of stupid non-existent things to ask me for and clear my contract so I could get paid? That’d be great, thanks.

Song du jour of the day: Read All About It, by Emeli Sandé.


Liluminai

So we took her back to the vet on Monday and all we really learned was that it wasn’t kitty leukemia. The corona virus is really hard to detect, so vets generally go by symptoms, and she had ‘em all. So if it wasn’t FIP, it was something else that was destroying her liver and making her so anemic that even if we force-fed her, she wouldn’t really be taking in anything useful. Essentially, she was starving to death. So we made the decision to have her put to sleep, but first we took her home for one more night and day, to say goodbye and give the boys the chance to decide whether they wanted to be there when it happened. Initially, both said yes. In the end, neither came with us, and DrBob postponed a few appointments to come with me, which was really helpful. But I still cried a lot.

I know that you sign up for this when you get a cat. But we really thought we had another five years before we even had to think about losing her. This blindsided us.

No song today.

27jan14e


about a kitty

I’ve been collecting pictures for months, planning to update y’all on how Miss Lilu has adapted to life in Heidelberg. Don’t know why it took so long to get around to writing it… (oh who am I kidding, of course I know why).

As you’ll no doubt recall, getting her here was a bit of an adventure. But with a new home and the vertical adventureland kitty paradise forest in our back yard, we hoped she’d settle in in relatively short order.

And she did. We established with the Utrecht move that she attaches to people, not places, so we had no qualms about letting her out. She really liked Out – she spent so much time there in June that we thought she might have adopted another family. She also brought a lot of Out in, in the form of rodents – 6 in a single week, once. That was… thrilling.

Continue reading


In which a therapist mysteriously happens to me

So, um. Wait, what? You know that bit in the Talking Heads song where he says “You may ask yourself: Well, how did I get here?” Yeah, I think I have that moment way more often than I want it.

I’m trying to reconstruct how I got into this situation (another thing that I do far too often, frankly). My Dutch doctor prescribed birth control pills to try to control my migraines, because we thought they might be a cyclical hormonal thing. They didn’t help, but they solved some other problems so I kept taking them. So far this all makes sense.

Then we moved back to Germany, and my German doctor referred me to a gynecologist to ask if the Pill was a reasonable response to chronic migraines. The gynecologist said that migraine patients with aura had a higher risk of stroke if they took the pill, and she took me off it and referred me to a neurologist. Then December happened, and I got too busy, but this week I used my health insurance’s Doctor-finder app to locate the neurologist nearest my house and it pointed me to a doctor in Ziegelhausen, across the river.

Here’s where we enter the Twilight Zone. Continue reading


best-laid plans and bad lighting

I was going to go to Stitch n Bitch today, I had my knitting with me and everything! But, um… well, DrBob offered to drive me down because he had an errand to run, and when we got to the garage we found he’d left Fünferl’s door open overnight, uh-oh.

You don’t know Fünferl? Oh, no, I must’ve posted that on Facebook instead of here! Okay everybody, say hi to Fünferl, she joined us sometime in late summer:

the newest member of the family

the newest member of the family

So anyway, Fünferl’s battery was mostly dead: she had lights, but wouldn’t start, so we had to push her out of the garage and point her downslope (good thing we live on a mountain!) to get her started, and then of course you have to drive awhile to recharge the battery, so uh-oh, accidental emergency ROAD TRIP! WOOHOO! Erm, I mean, um, oh noes! (heh heh)

It was rainy enough, and late enough in the day that France was not such a great idea, so we went to Hirschhorn and visited the castle instead. And walked through the super-cutesy town center and had coffee, as you do. I’m sorry I missed knitting, a bit, but it was good to hang out with DrBob for a bit. And take pictures with my camera phone, even though it wasn’t a good day for photography.

Song du jour of the day: River, by Emeli Sandé


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